


the bright lights make the shadows

by StormsBreadth



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe, Bad Things Have HAppened To Caleb Widogast, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, abusive interpersonal relationships, aggressive adherence to the rules of dungeons and dragons, arranged marriage (not between primary couple), heavy use of romance novel tropes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-06-24 08:54:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19720375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StormsBreadth/pseuds/StormsBreadth
Summary: The Traveller's Circus is a place made up of misfits and outcasts, so it makes sense when a man who is a misfit and an outcast hires them to perform at his wedding. But the wedding is more than it seems, and as the circus travels to the grand castle where it is to be held, its members soon finds themselves drawn into a web of conspiracy.More than that though, Mollymauk Tealeaf, the circus's amnesiac frontman, finds himself drawn to their mysterious employer, a powerful wizard by the name of Caleb Widogast...





	the bright lights make the shadows

**Author's Note:**

> I have been reading a lot of terrible sappy romance novels recently and episode 26 emotionally destroyed me, so obviously the answer is to write fanfiction modelled on said terrible sappy romance novels. Note that I'm extremely behind on critical role (as could possibly be guessed from just now being destroyed by ep26)! I apologise if I write things which contradict canon revealed later, though I am doing my best to avoid this. Minor retconning may occur. 
> 
> WARNINGS: No significant warnings apply to this chapter, though it does contain a living character making his way out of a grave unavble to speak, and the implication that Bad Things Have Happened To Caleb Widogast

Mollymauk Tealeaf had never been born. 

Well, that wasn’t strictly true. Presumably at some point, the being that would later become Mollymauk Tealeaf had been pulled, purple and wriggling, from the womb of some woman. One would assume that he’d grown up from there, the nubbed horns of a tiefling baby growing into graceful spirals as he grew taller and his features matured. 

This was just speculation, however. 

Those who knew him could confirm only this: that on a cold night on the border between autumn and winter, a person awoke with no memories inside a box. 

Although very few people remember their first moments, it would not be unreasonable to think that they are characterised by panic. When one has known only the quiet dark of the womb, to be ripped from that sanctuary into the cold brightness of the world must be quite the shock. With no words to ask for an explanation, or comfort, or simply to let the world know what they are feeling, it is no wonder so many babies end up crying. 

When he-who-would-become Mollymauk Tealeaf awoke, it was quiet and dark, but far from warm. With no words to express his feelings or call for help, the person settled for screaming, wordless and panicked, out into the night.

After a while it became clear that no-one was coming. The air inside the box had started to grow thin, making screaming harder as the panic only grew, until all he had left was the one instinct that screamed at him to go  _ up _ . 

It wasn’t an easy journey. The wooden box was well made but splintered under his nails as he clawed at it, and the ground above had been frozen by an early autumn frost. But the grave was not deep and the adrenaline rush kept him going until a hand broke the surface and he was able to shove the dirt out of his face and draw in great gulps of the night air, until his heart slowed slightly and the chill began to set into his flesh. 

The forest stood quiet around him. The birds had flown south for the winter and the squirrels and small furry things which usually chittered about the roots and branches of the trees had just settled in to hibernate. He looked around with new eyes, taking in the sights and sounds before the chill morphed into shivering, and the same instinct which had said up changed its tune and said move, without bothering to append a direction. 

He stumbled through the woods for what felt like a long time, although in reality it was not that long, only distorted by the lack of anything to compare it to. But it was still a long time for someone to be walking through the woods at night, wearing no boots and thin clothing. By the time he saw light, his feet were numb and he didn’t so much walk as stagger, but he did see the lights and know that for him, unlike the other creatures of the forest, that meant safety, not danger. 

What he saw wasn’t a city. It wasn’t even a town, though it sat on the outskirts of one. What he saw once he was close enough to make out anything other than brightness was a great structure, circular in shape and festooned in lights. It was surrounded by smaller structures, some of them equally bright, others, the less decorative ones, fading into shadow instead. From this close, music could be heard, loud and brassy and in-your-face. It wasn’t exactly a traditional siren song, but it was written to draw people in, and draw them it did - both the crowds from the nearby town, and the lone figure coming in out of the woods, stumbling in the direction of the light and sound. 

But coming back from the grave can take a lot out of a person. Adrenaline and fear had taken him this far, but they couldn’t power someone indefinitely. As he emerged from the woods, the last of his strength left him, and he collapsed to his knees, vision blurring. He saw a tall figure moving towards him, voices speaking, before consciousness left him. 

* * *

In a different way, Caleb Widogast had never been born. 

Bren Aldric Ermendrud had been born, in a humble cottage in a small town near the great city of Rexxentrum. That was a long time ago now, and a lot of things had happened since his mother pushed him from the womb into the warm firelight of the cottage. Brighter lights, and bigger fires.   


The thing is, while boys like Bren might be born, men like Caleb Widogast are  _ made _ .  


**Author's Note:**

> The next chapter is likely to be a significant change of tone from the prologue, and will hopefully be coming to you all... soon. In the mean time, if you want to read some absolutely ridiculous, extremely heterosexual, but altogether quite charming romance novels I highly recommend Eva Ibbotson's romance novels.


End file.
